Tokens
by ava jamison
Summary: Batman is gone, Catwoman and Superman dance around the issue.


Slipping through the duct, Catwoman climbs higher and higher until finally she can see moonlight pouring in through an opening at the top. The mobster's penthouse was easy in, easy out and she can have the diamonds fenced before breakfast: a nice, simple score. Hoisting herself up through the vent, she eyes the rooftop through a small chink in the metal—all she can see is the tarpaper surface, but that's all she needs to see—the coast's clear. She climbs out, pulling her bag up behind her.

A noise, a shadow, and Selina freezes—cursing herself for the fleeting sensory memory that makes her, just for a split second, hope that it's him. She's got to stop with the ghosts. The shadow's gone and whoever it is, it's not going to ibe/i him, so she'd just better get on with it. She slinks round the parapet without ditching her loot. What's the point? He isn't here to stop her and nobody else's take on anything matters. But then she sees who it is and… he's huge and—ilooming/i over the horizon. She slips backward, almost tripping, which means she really is about to get herself into trouble. No wonder she didn't see anybody on the rooftop. And what the hell's he doing in Gotham?

He's facing away from her, looking out over the grimy gothic skyline. Boots two feet off the ground, he just hovers, arms crossed, cape floating out behind him in a ribbon of red.

Time to run. She can stash the diamonds and come back. He hasn't even noticed her yet. This is what, a coincidence? Catwoman crouches, ready to dart for the vent, escape back down to the mobster's loft.

And then, Superman coughs. Politely, like he's announcing his presence. At the same time, his body turns, graceful and strong and otherworldly—to face her. "Ms… Catwoman?"

Selina tenses. It takes every ounce of will not to bolt. The man is alien and intimidating and she's really not in the mood for this. "What do you want?"

Superman lowers his feet to the surface of the roof, still imposing, and looks rather pointedly to her bag of jewels.

Her grip tightens on the handle. "Out of your jurisdiction, aren't you?"

"I'm not here to…" He looks at her, then back at the bag before taking a deep breath and focusing again on her face. "I'm not here on official business."

"Why iare/i you here?" She steps out of the shadows.

He takes a single, elegant step back, maintaining the status quo of distance between them.

"This isn't still about what happened in Metropolis, is it? Last time I saw you we were past that one."

"The one where you risked a woman's life?"

"Not iany/i woman."

His eyes narrow.

"Taken that up with him yet? Might want to cover it before the next time you go rogue."

That gets to him. He shifts slightly. "I'm not here to argue."

"Why are you here? Better hurry before we have company."

"Do you want to go somewhere… more private?"

"Handsome as you are, bucko—no."

"I see." He clears his throat and his voice drops low. "It's about… him."

Catwoman wants to sag against the wall behind her, but she forces her back ramrod straight. "What about him?"

"Are you aware of the events of—"

"Aware enough."

"Nightwing is going to—I believe he intends to speak to you shortly."

She taps her foot, aching to get this over as fast as she can. "Let him."

"There is… would you like to sit down?"

"No." Selina practically spits it out. They found the body—they found the body—they found the body. It's the only thing running through her head and she realizes, suddenly, in the silent predawn, that she's whispering the words out loud. She claps a hand over her mouth and finally leans back against the wall behind her.

Superman's brows furrow. "A body has been—recovered, yes."

"iA/i body. He's fooled us before."

"The odds are against us this time." Whatever he sees on her face makes him stammer, move closer like he thinks she's going to collapse. "Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere—sit down? You look…"

Catwoman glares at him, blinking back the way her eyes fill with unwanted tears. "Is it him?"

"That's what I want…" Superman squares his shoulders, staring up at the moon for a moment before finishing. "That's why I came to talk to you."

"You don't want me…" Selina stops, not able to listen to her own voice break.

"No," he says quickly. "Not to identify the body." His hand lands on her shoulder, heavy and firm and she can't tell if he's trying to be kind or just keep her upright. "It definitely looks like him. From what's left of—"

"Damn!" She closes her eyes to try to block— "Do you give a lot of this kind of news? Because really…" Selina swallows, pushes up off of the wall. "I think I'd rather hear it from Dick."

"Nightwing," Superman continues, ignoring her misstep, "believes it's him."

"And you don't."

"I haven't discussed my… misgivings with him yet."

"Why not?" Catwoman's tone is sharp and vicious she doesn't even care.

Superman's own pain is evident in his voice, too. "I don't want to instill… false hope."

"Only with me, then?"

The man's broad shoulders slump and for the first time since this horrible tête-à-tête started she sees the grief on his face. "I wanted to spare a son any pain I could."

He would do the same, she thinks but doesn't say.

"I noted an… anomaly. With the…"

"You can say it. Body."

Superman swallows audibly. "Yes. And I need to ask you something. Something rather… personal."

"Personal?" She frowns, studying the uncertainty and sadness in Superman's expression. "You can ask. I won't promise I'll answer. He is—" she can't, won't make herself use past tense—"a very private man."

"Believe me, I know." Superman's smile is small and melancholy.

"So ask."

He takes a deep, almost hitching breath, looking past her at the skyline.

Catwoman pushes her goggles up to look him in the eyes and he does, deep blue almost as deep as Bruce's but nowhere near the same. She's holding every muscle tight and braced, ready for whatever comes next. "What do you want to know?"

A tired sigh and his mouth firms into a thin line. Finally he speaks. "Had you two… broken up recently?"

Nervous tension zings up her spine and Catwoman drops the loot, sputtering out a sharp, shocked bark of a laugh.

Superman looks mortified. "I'm sorry, it's just—"

"Just not what I expected." She wipes the moisture from the corners of her eyes. "I'd never use ithat/i expression—"

"I'm sorry," he says again. "That was… clumsy."

"Where are you from, Superman? We're not teenagers going to prom."

He nods, choosing his next words slowly. "He had a habit—a thing that he often had on his person. I believe it was something of yours."

Selina raises an eyebrow, gauging the god in front of her, waiting to see if he'll elaborate. Her heart is pounding so hard in her chest that she bets he can hear it too.

"Do you know what I'm referring to?"

She can't say anything or her voice will betray her and he'll hear the tears.

"He wore it, lately. Every time I'd seen him for the past few months."

"I hadn't seen it," she starts to say, but truth be told she hadn't seen much of him in the last… how long had it been? Just a couple of stolen moments—nothing like the time she'd given him the silly token—but no, she hadn't seen it. "Really?"

"It wasn't… visible." Superman is almost blushing for a second, the faintest of color touching his cheeks. "But it was there, under his gauntlet. Around his wrist."

"It was just a… " She stops, because there's no way she's telling this man about a rare lazy moment in the afterglow and a silly string of leather childishly braided from torn-off strands of a Cat o' nine looped over a headboard. No way in hell. But maybe he gets it, because he's watching her closely, and the man's not an idiot.

"It hasn't shown up," Superman says softly. "I got the impression…" he shifts on his feet, studying the horizon, "that it was something like a knight wearing a lady's favor into battle… " The man still doesn't make eye contact, almost bashful. "To him."

Selina flashes on the moment—Bruce hovering between dreams and wakefulness, her stretched beside him, wrapping the silly thing around his wrist. His sleepy crack about a Catwoman's token of affection being suitably… fitting.

Superman's polite cough brings her back to the rooftop and grim Gotham night. "There are four men entering the first floor of the building beneath us. They're moving fast and coming this way."

"I left a calling card—they'll know the place has been hit." Catwoman pulls her goggles back down over her eyes.

"Can I give you a lift?" He offers his arm, blue eyes warm and clear.

"Sure." Diamonds rattle as she picks up her bag. "Maybe just a block or two."

"I'm going to do a little more investigating before I talk to Dick."

"iHe/i would."

"We shouldn't get our hopes up—we could be wrong."

"If he had the slightest doubt, he wouldn't stop. Not for a second."

Superman pulls her close to his warm, solid body and lifts off the rooftop. His voice is strong and resolute. "Don't worry. I won't stop, either."


End file.
